


chasing ghosts

by museaway



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Drinking, First Kiss, M/M, Post-Star Trek: Into Darkness, STID canon universe, Shore Leave, T'hy'la Big Bang, Tarsus IV references, Wedding, mention of past child abuse, mention of past depression and PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-21 03:02:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6035419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/museaway/pseuds/museaway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three years after the attack on London, Jim has overcome the psychological effects of his resurrection and is one of Starfleet's most respected captains. A brief leave on Earth for his brother's wedding reunited him with an old friend, and Jim is left to consider whether a ship alone is enough to make him happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I’ve been writing this since the beginning of time. Literally months. It was strange coming back to these characters after working with another set for so long, but I think the dynamic between Jim and Sam is improved because of it. I’m going to straight-up tell you right now: there’s no sex in this fic, but there is a hidden Dean/Cas cameo. 
> 
> Please imagine Sam Kirk as [Chris Pine's character in _Bottle Shock_](https://twitter.com/museawayfic/status/666333130786078720).
> 
> Thank you to jouissant for beta reading. ♥
> 
> * * *
> 
> [Fanmix by treksfromlastnight](http://8tracks.com/treksfromlastnight/chasing-ghosts) | [Art by meerkt](http://meerkt.tumblr.com/post/139447513950/so-i-participated-in-the-thyla-big-bang-and-i)

 

The invitation occupied the top right corner of Jim’s desk. It had been collecting dust for two months. Of course, Sam had sent a paper copy.

In traditional script, the invitation requested the presence of _James T. Kirk and Guest_ for a vineyard wedding at the end of September, not far from Riverside. It was printed on thick paper that wouldn’t bend in Jim’s grasp. Aurie’s note (“We can’t wait to see you!”) was affixed to the front of the envelope, which had arrived with a long-distance Earth transport months after Jim had received their video invitation.

“It’s your brother’s wedding,” Bones said, tipping back his bourbon. He sat across Jim’s desk, the workday just ended. They passed the bottle back and forth. “It’s not optional. Besides, you already said you were going.”

Jim plucked at the collar of his shirt, loose after a day on the bridge. He hadn’t bothered to put on a clean one, since he planned to go a few rounds in the gym before dinner.

“Can’t you get me out of it? Write me a note. You’re a doctor.”

“You’re the captain of a starship, Jim. Maybe you should act like one.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do! It’s a waste of resources to take me back to Earth just for a social event.”

“I’m glad you’ve suddenly become environmentally conscious.”

“Ugh, pour me another.” Jim held out his glass, but Bones put the stopper in the bottle and shoved it out of his reach.

“You need the time off and a few good meals.” When Jim glared and made a swipe for the bottle anyway, Bones added, “Doctor’s orders. And you can do plenty of drinking on Earth.”

“You’re looking forward to this.”

“The rest will be good for you.” Bones’s face softened. Jim huffed and rolled his eyes.

“I’m _fine_.”

“Did you pass your medical boards in addition to the captain’s test? Because the last time I checked, I’m the one with the medical degree.”

“Don’t do this right now.” Jim rubbed his temples.

“I’ll order you home if I have to, but I have faith you can recognize that you need some time on solid ground. You know I still recommend therapy.”

Jim slumped in his chair and scratched his cheek. “You realize Spock’s going to be captain while I’m gone.”

“The thought had occurred to me.”

“You’re such an asshole.” Jim yawned a laugh into his palm. “I should make you accompany me.”

“I would happily escort you if it weren’t for my duties on board your ship, Captain.”

“Nothing like going stag to a wedding.”

“Carol would’ve gone with you.”

“I’m not taking your girlfriend to my brother’s wedding.”

“There’s no one back home you can ask?”

Blurry faces swam forward, women and men he’d met on blackout nights, a few old school friends who lived not far from the farmhouse. Jim hadn’t spoken with any since leaving Riverside—did he even have their contact information?

“A couple. Doubt they’d be real keen on the idea. To be honest, I’m looking forward to sleeping in more than anything.”

“I want you to come by med bay before you leave this ship.”

“I just had a physical last week! You said yourself there’s nothing wrong with me.”

“Not _now_ ,” Bones said, “but I’m going to see to it you’re up-to-date on your Terran STD vaccinations, in case you decide to do something stupid.”

#

The long-range transport took four days to reach Earth. Jim passed the time wading through a backlog of reports and staff reviews, mucking through them in record time since he had relatively no distractions. But the sound of the transport’s engine grated his nerves, so he hardly slept during the trip and was running on caffeine by the time he disembarked in San Francisco.

After a brief appearance and photo op at headquarters, he boarded a packed shuttle for the Riverside Shipyard. It was faster than public transportation, and the pilot allowed him to sit undisturbed in the cockpit. He slept most of the ride and stayed on-board until the recruits had disembarked, most unaware of his presence—he wasn’t in the mood to re-tell the _Narada_ incident again.

Riverside was cool today, overcast but no breeze. Pleasant for late September. It had been two and a half years since Jim last stood on Iowa soil, but he would’ve known his surroundings by the scent of crops and nearby livestock. He filled his lungs with it.

Two steps forward and the uniformed workers and metal scaffolding blurred together. Jim slumped against the shuttle’s hull to catch his breath, its siding almost searing through his uniform shirt. His bag thudded to the dirt.

“Are you alright, sir?” An ensign with broad shoulders and a square forehead bent down so they were eye level.

“Fine.” Jim waved him off. He should’ve used one of the sleep aids Bones had sent with him. “Haven’t slept much in a few days.”

“Would you like me to carry that for you?” The ensign pointed to Jim’s bag. Logically, Jim knew the ensign was asking out of courtesy for Jim’s position within Starfleet. He was being polite, but it didn’t stop the anger that punched through him. The ensign was late forties, old enough to be Jim’s father, but lacked the panache to hold rank—a career lackey. And Jim, just twenty-nine and in command of the jewel of the fleet, couldn't handle a shuttle ride.

“I got it. Thanks.” Jim flashed the ensign an embarrassed smile and heaved the bag onto his shoulder.

Winona Kirk waited with a blue aircar just outside the gates. Jim broke into a grin and walked a step faster when he saw her. She was out of uniform—for once—in a sleeveless gray blouse and jeans with a noticeable grease stain, graying hair pulled back in a loose knot.

“Captain,” she said, raising her chin to smile in return. It crinkled the skin around her eyes and filled Jim with fondness.

“Commander.” He motioned to the car. “Did you rent this?”

“Figured it would be easier than calling a cab. Are you glad to be back on Earth?” She tossed his bag into the trunk. He put his diplomacy skills to good use and sidestepped her question.

“You look good, mom.”

“You look like hell.” She smoothed a hand over his hair.

“Nice to see you too.”

“Would you prefer a mother that lies to you?” Winona pulled him in for a brief hug. She patted his back twice and got in the car. “I hope you’re hungry. Sam’s been cooking non-stop since they got here.”

Jim’s stomach growled in anticipation of home-cooked food and the absence of his usual diet restrictions. “When did they get in?”

“Monday. It’s been a full house.”

“Sure you want a fourth? I can get a room in town.”

“We serve on ships with hundreds of crew members. I think we can both handle a few days together in one house.”

The car hummed in seeming agreement and lifted several inches off the ground. Winona guided it toward the road, complaining about the quality of recruits nowadays when they failed to get out of the way.

“I don’t know what Starfleet looks for anymore,” she muttered, checking the rearview mirror. “It’s not common sense.”

Too tired to answer, Jim simply nodded and held onto the armrest as they sped down the road.

#

Jim hadn’t been back to the house since his recovery, when he’d spent a couple weeks there to avoid the media clamoring for details about Khan. They wouldn’t accept “No comment,” so he’d holed up, groggy from the medication Bones had prescribed, and slept. He did little but sleep for weeks, until Starfleet declared he was physically fit for duty.

It was strange to be back. In the front hall, Winona held out a hand for his jacket. The house smelled about the same as he remembered, but with a hint of cinnamon and vanilla—evidence of Sam’s sweet tooth, no doubt.

“I gave Aurie your room,” Winona said, shutting the closet. She left her shoes on the rug and walked further into the house. “You’re in the den.”

“What, why?” Jim set his bag on a chair just inside the door and unlaced his boots. He threw them aside and followed after her into the living room, socks slipping on the hardwood floor.

“Because your brother is old fashioned. He wanted to sleep in separate rooms until the wedding.”

“They’ve lived together for three years!”

“You know how Sam is.”

“What if I’d shown up with someone?”

“Then I would’ve taken the couch, and you could’ve had my room.” Winona sighed and checked her watch. “Sam and Aurie won’t be back for a couple hours. They’re out running errands. Drink?”

“It’s not even 14:00,” Jim said flatly, but Winona cocked an eyebrow in challenge, so he shrugged. A drink would help him sleep, at least, and he _was_ on vacation. “Why not.”

They went to the den, his favorite room in the house—lined with books. A three-cushion leather sofa faced a picture window that looked into the back yard. Jim settled onto it, groaning as he sank into the cushions. They had nothing like this on the ship.

Winona poured them both a whiskey, neat. Jim had never liked his mom’s brand, but it didn’t taste as cheap today. Maybe because he’d spent the last two years with limited access to Terran creature comforts. He rolled the smokey flavor in his mouth.

“So,” she said, settling into an arm chair.

“So.”

“How’s the ship?”

He swallowed, chasing the burn down his chest. “She’s good. Came through repairs okay. Scotty keeps her running smoothly.”

“I wish your father could see you. He’d be so proud.”

Jim mulled over that with another sip. Would he have his own ship if the _Kelvin_ had managed to escape? If he’d enlisted right out of high school, he likely would’ve been with the fleet in the Laurentian System the day of the attack on Vulcan—assuming it happened at all, or in the same way. Maybe Starfleet would’ve found a way to destroy the _Narada_ years earlier.

And if it had attacked, Uhura might have made the connection between the transmission she’d intercepted and the attack twenty years earlier. Pike might have listened to her, if she’d been on board.

If any of them had. But Jim wouldn’t have known any of them.

He drew a sharp breath and shut his eyes, focusing on pulling air into his lungs. They were fine, all of them, his ship too. Spock was a capable acting captain, and Jim would be back with them in a couple weeks. There was no point in wondering “what if.”

“How’re you feeling?” Winona asked, leaning slightly forward. Her face bore knowing concern. Jim was immediately skeptical. He expected to be hounded with technical questions about his ship, but personal questions? He and his mother hardly talked above five times a year, yet she was holding his gaze...as though she’d been instructed to.

He and Bones were having a long, hard conversation about confidentiality once he was back on board.

“I’m okay,” he said, forcing himself to smile. “No major side effects.”

“I’m not talking about the radiation. Leonard and I spoke—”

“Oh, I knew it,” Jim muttered.

“You have me listed as your next of kin.”

“He had no right to call you.”

“When a starship captain exhibits behavior that threatens to compromise—”

“It was over a _year_ ago!”

“—his command of the ship, the CMO must act in the best interest of the ship and its crew.”

“Look.” Jim made a fist and held it tightly against his thigh. “I’ll admit that I had trouble coping for a while, alright? But I never _once_ lost sight of my responsibilities!”

Winona took a breath and sat back. Jim took a long drink, inhaling the fumes that had collected in the glass. They stung his nose. He felt off balance, exhausted and wrung-out. He needed to sleep, but the stillness of Earth unsettled him. He hid a yawn against the back of his wrist.

“You’re tired,” Winona said, rising. “I’ll leave you alone for a while, let you relax. When Sam and Aurie get back, I’ll call you for dinner.”

“Thanks.”

“There are clean towels in the bathroom.”

He accepted the peace offering with a fixed smile. Once the door closed and he heard her footsteps fading toward the kitchen, he pulled out his comm.

“I cannot _believe_ you called my mother,” he hissed as soon as Bones answered.

“Well, hello to you, too,” Bones said over the hum of biobeds. “How was your trip, sunshine?”

“When did you talk to her?”

Bones sighed, a lonely sound in his ear. “A while ago.”

“How long?”

“A few months. When you weren’t doing so well.”

Jim clenched his fist harder. “What did you talk about? And don’t you dare tell me it’s confidential.”

“I wanted to know if she’d heard from you, Jim. She said you two don’t talk much, which is obviously true.”

“Who else did you talk to about me?”

“I needed to be sure that you had the support of the people around you, in case I had to relieve you of duty. That didn’t happen, so this is a moot point.”

“I need to know how many people think I’m two seconds from losing it.”

“Jim, nobody thinks that. What you went through, none of us have. You experienced something profound—of course there were going to be long-term effects. I’m just sorry I didn’t recognize what was going on sooner so we could’ve gotten you help.”

“Well, I’m fine now. No more nightmares. I even slept on the shuttle.”

“Jim,” Bones said, in a voice as gentle as he ever used. “If you need anything at all, you call me.”

“I will.”

#

Jim dozed off on the den’s leather sofa, which he’d be calling home for the weekend. It was narrower than his bunk on the ship, but the cushions were thick. He set down his empty glass and in two breaths, he was out.

When the ringing started, it took a few seconds to remember where he was, get his bearings, remember why he couldn’t hear the _Enterprise_ ’s engines. A bird chirped erratically outside the window.

Jim rubbed a kink in his neck with a knuckle and answered his comm.

“Jim Kirk,” he mumbled.

“Jim.” The familiar voice was somehow musical despite its stoicism. It would always conjure the image of an ice cave, the warm glow of reflected firelight. Jim immediately brightened.

“Hey! It’s been a long time.”

“Five months and twenty-two days,” Spock said.

“What’s going on? How’s the colony?”

“I am satisfied with the progress. I hope that you will have a chance to visit and see for yourself.”

“I’m sure we will. Spock will want to take Uhura to see it. Where are you?”

“I am in San Francisco.”

Jim sat up, drawing his knees to his chest so he could lean his chin on them. “No kidding! I didn’t know you were on planet. How long are you here?”

“I am visiting for the next month. When I arrived, I was told you had recently landed. I trust there is nothing wrong?”

“No, no. I’m here for Sam’s wedding. Ship’s fine. I left my first officer in charge.”

“Then the ship is in good hands,” Spock said with a chuckle. “I offer my congratulations to your brother.”

“Thanks, I’m happy for him. Don’t suppose you want to take a transport out to Iowa, be my date?”

“I would be honored to accompany you.”

Jim blinked in surprise. “Yeah?”

“I suspect you were speaking in hyperbole just now, but I do not have any standing engagements this week.”

“Man, that’d be awesome. It’ll give us a chance to catch up.”

“When is the wedding?”

“In two days, Saturday afternoon. Is that too soon?”

“I will take an evening shuttle tomorrow. Would it be possible for you to secure accommodations for me near the shipyard?”

“You can stay with us, if you don’t mind the couch.”

“I would not inconvenience your mother?”

“Not at all. You’re more than welcome.”

“Thank you, Jim.”

“No problem.” Jim rubbed the back of his neck, waiting for Spock to keep talking, but he didn’t. “So I’ll, uh. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Indeed. Goodbye.”

“Later.” Jim closed his comm and tipped his head back. The conversation had eased his dark mood. Yawning, he set his comm down on the coffee table and shut his eyes. Sleep came easily.

#

Something heavy, roughly 180 pounds of muscle and shaped like his brother, sat down on Jim’s legs. Laughing, Sam tucked his shoulder-length hair behind his ears and thwacked Jim in the gut.

“You got in how many hours ago and you didn’t even message me?”

Jim grunted and tried to force Sam off of him, but he didn’t budge. “Mom said you guys were out.”

“I woulda come back sooner if I’d known you were in. How was your trip?”

“Long.” Jim rubbed his eyes with twin fists. “You got cold feet yet?”

“Toasty warm.” Sam’s grin was boyish, framed by the beginning of a mustache. His eyes, identical to Jim’s except for color, darted toward the door and back. “I’m not supposed to ask—mom thinks it’ll upset you—but how’re you doing?”

Jim flung an arm over his face. “I’m _fine_. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. And get off me, man. You’re fucking heavy.”

“You look good.” Sam chewed on his lip. “Better than I thought you would, I mean.”

“What’d you expect me to look like?”

“I don’t know. I saw the press releases, but I thought the photos mighta been touched up.”

“I’m not a _zombie_.”

“I didn’t say you were...” Sam raked a hand through his hair. “Jesus, Jim. I’m glad you’re okay. How’s that?”

“Better.”

“How’s the ship? You like it?” Sam asked, picking up Jim’s legs and dropping them on his lap. Jim made a face but didn’t get up.

“I love it. What about you? Still playing with bacteria?”

“Yeah, I’m mostly focused on environmental work here: water pollution, air quality. It’s okay for now. Definitely not what I want to do long-term. Don’t tell mom—she still thinks I’m going to take over the farm—but I’ve got an application in with a research facility on Deneva.”

“Deneva?” Jim frowned, trying to recall what he knew of the system. “Why?”

“Planet’s beautiful,” Sam said. “Plus, Aurie thinks it would be a good place to raise a family. Her parents don’t live on Earth, and you and mom are always out on missions, so there’s no reason for us to stay here.”

“I guess not.”

Jim groaned himself fully horizontal. Would Winona keep the house if she knew Sam and Aurie didn’t want it? It was absurd to be disappointed about a potential sale. It wasn’t like Jim had any plans to take over the farm, either, but he’d grown up here. He swung his legs off the couch and leaned forward to stretch his back.

“You never thought about living somewhere else?” Sam asked.

“I do live somewhere else.”

With a roll of his eyes, Sam said, “I mean another planet.”

The lone command—“ _Fire_!”—echoed across a burning field. They’d burned them all to stop the fungus. He covered his stomach with a hand and forced himself to grin. He didn’t talk about that place anymore.

“Hey, I know Tarsus was no Earth Colony II, but you can’t expect a thirteen-year-old to know shit about real estate.”

Sam blanched at his mistake. “Jimmy, I’m sorry. I didn’t—you _know_ I didn’t mean that the way it came out.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I should’ve been with you.”

Jim maintained his smile, stretched thin across his face. Being on his own probably allowed him to survive the colony, but Sam would never understand that. He hadn’t been there. It wasn’t his fault. Jim had stopped trying to explain a decade ago.

“Mom said you’ve been tearing up her kitchen since you got in,” he said. “They don’t have food where you live?”

“Don’t feel up to cooking after I work a whole day,” Sam said, his tone lighter—he was obviously as glad of the shift in conversation as Jim. “I’m on vacation. You hungry?”

“Yeah. Let me grab a shower and I’ll be out. D’you want to get a drink later? Just the two of us?”

“We can go after we eat. I promised Aurie nothing big, but she can’t say no to me having drinks with my brother. The Ship?”

Jim grinned—genuinely, this time. “Not a proper trip to Riverside without it. Hey, is there anything you need me to do, by the way? Aren’t I supposed to have a list of best man duties?”

“Taken care of,” Sam said with a self-important shake of his head. “I ought to quit my job and become a wedding planner.”

#

Clean and dressed in civilian wear, Jim hedged the topic of Spock’s impending visit by first offering to get a room in town, but his mother wasn’t upset. On the contrary, she sounded thrilled to be meeting one of Jim’s friends, though the cryptic smile she gave made him turn tail for the kitchen.

Despite not having seen each other in three years, Jim and Aurie required just a look to catch up. Sam fussed at the stove while Aurie relaxed with both elbows on the kitchen table, dark hair pulled into a messy bun. She dunked one of Sam’s cookies into a cup of tea. Jim grabbed a beer from the fridge and smirked his way onto the adjacent chair.

“Aurelan.” He shoved a whole cookie in his mouth and grinned.

“James.”

He clinked the beer bottle against her teacup. She raised an eyebrow, then broke into a grin.

“I can’t believe they let you command a starship.”

“I can’t believe what you’re about to marry,” he said once he’d swallowed.

They watched Sam dip his pinkie into a saucepan and give his creation a nod of approval. Aurie bit her lip and sighed.

“Does he know about...” Jim asked, wagging his bottle back and forth between them just long enough that she understood. She smacked his arm.

“Of course.”

“Ah, cool.”

“Have you _ever_ dated someone longer than a weekend?”

Jim thought about it with one eye open, which made her snort and wave off the question.

Sam carried a tray of fried chicken to the table and announced, “Let’s eat!” Winona popped the cork on a bottle of red table wine. They drained it over dinner and emptied a second over an apple pie Sam had made from scratch—an old Kirk family recipe. Jim scarfed down two pieces. The wine left him woozy.

He pushed back from the table and mumbled that he needed a nap before they went out.

“Since when are you a lightweight?” Sam challenged.

“I just need twenty minutes,” Jim yawned, edging toward the door, but Winona held up a finger to stop him.

“What time is your friend getting here tomorrow?”

“Uh…” He squeezed his eyes closed and tried to remember what Spock had said. “Sometime in the evening.”

“You’re bringing a date?” Sam asked. “Who?”

“He’s a friend.” Jim said, but they all looked at him with matching grins, expecting him to elaborate. He rolled his eyes. “He’s on planet, gave me a call this afternoon. I haven’t seen him in a couple years, so I figured, why not?”

Aurie had a particular gleam in her eye. “Someone from the academy?”

Jim thought for a moment. “Technically.”

Winona raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“We can talk more about it tomorrow.” Jim wasn’t sure where to begin—Spock’s presence might dredge up bad feelings, no matter how delicately Jim broke the news. He glanced to Sam. “Wake me up when you’re ready to go.”

#

The Shipyard was, if possible, in worse condition than the time Jim was face-down drooling on a bar table. His shoes stuck to the concrete, and the torn vinyl seats bloomed with padding, extruding like a dingy turnover. He grimaced before sitting down.

The bartender, a tall, burly man with a bald head, looked in their direction. His face opened in friendly recognition. He slung a bar towel over his shoulder and extended a thick hand across the bar.

“Glad to see you again, Captain. I trust I don’t have to worry about you getting in any more fights.”

“Not tonight,” Jim laughed. He shook the bartender’s hand—Lew, he remembered—and clapped Sam on the back. “My brother’s getting married in two days. We’re celebrating.”

“Congratulations. What can I get you?” Lew asked.

“Uh, Bud Classic and the home base fries,” Jim said. “Sam?”

“Klabnian fire tea and a shot of Jack.”

“Coming up,” said Lew and went to punch in Jim’s order.

“So.” Sam drummed both hands on the bar, then planted his fists and craned his head to look at Jim. “When were you fighting in here?”

Jim shrugged but didn’t look at him. “Couple years ago.”

“Does this have anything to do with you enlisting?”

“It was part of it. Wasn’t like I was going anywhere sticking around here.”

Lew slid them their drinks and said the fries would be up in a minute. Jim nodded his head in thanks and handed over his credit chip.

“I was worried about you back then, man,” Sam said once it was the two of them again. He took the shot of Jack first, wincing as it went down. “I wasn’t sure if you were ever gonna get your shit together.”

Jim tipped his head back and flooded his mouth with beer. “I wasn’t sure you were ever gonna settle down, you hippie.”

“Is this weird for you? Aurie told me you went out a couple times.”

“We got _drunk_ a couple times. I’m happy for you. I swear.”

Sam looked relieved, settling into his chair and letting his shoulders round out. “So who’s this date you’ve got coming tomorrow?”

“It’s, uh...” Jim glanced around them. There were a couple people in Starfleet uniforms, but no one he recognized and no one of rank. Still, it was best to be safe. Any one of them could be a reporter. “Hang on a sec.”

He waited until his fries were up and motioned to the booths along the wall. Sam raised an eyebrow but followed Jim to a booth in the dark corner. The bench seats were torn. Jim didn’t want to think about what was stuck underneath the table, careful not to let his knees touch the underside. He propped both elbows on the edge and spoke just loudly enough for Sam to hear.

“What I’m about to tell you is classified.”

Sam licked his lips and leaned across the table. “You’re really a spy.”

“No, dick,” Jim said, chuckling. He dug into the fries with zeal and spoke with a full mouth. “You know about the Romulan ship the _Kelvin_ encountered?”

“Of course. I was three when dad died.”

“Well, what’s not publicly known is that a couple years ago, something else came through that black hole. Another ship.”

Sam made a sour face, like he thought Jim was pranking him. “What?”

“And—I know this sounds crazy, but I’m not kidding—it was piloted by a much older version of my first officer. He followed the Romulans through and got stuck here.”

“You are full of shit.”

Jim raised his hands in innocence. “He’ll be here tomorrow, so you can quiz him all you want.”

“Uh huh. So he’s a Vulcan? You’re bringing a Vulcan to my wedding?”

“Yup.”

“And you guys are...”

“Just friends.” When Sam gave him an incredulous look, Jim added, “Seriously. He’s a hundred years older than me.”

“Sure.” Sam’s grin said otherwise. “How did you meet him?”

“Um.” Jim wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “When Vulcan was...y’know. I was there, and. Kinda got myself marooned.”

“From a starship.”

“In my defense, it was very specific circumstances. I said some things I shouldn’t have. People weren’t thinking clearly.”

“And these same people,” Sam said with exaggerated enunciation, as though he were speaking to a small child, “they gave you a ship?”

“Shut up.” Jim laughed and kicked Sam’s shin under the table. “It was a misunderstanding. Anyway, Spock happened to be on the rock where they dropped me.”

Sam blinked a few times and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. “You realize how fucking weird this sounds.”

“I’d appreciate it if you kept it to yourself. The ‘official’ rumor...” Jim mimed air quotes. “...is the pilot died with his ship.”

“Sure, but why’s it a big deal? The Romulans were from the future too. It’s not like time travel is some big secret.”

“Yeah, but they’re dead. Spock could be kidnapped, held for information. For his safety, as far as anybody’s concerned, he’s just another Vulcan. Alright?”

“I’m a steel trap.” Sam tapped his forehead. “Does mom know?”

“Pretty sure she does. She’s got clearance.”

“Weird, man. I’m getting another couple of these.” Sam drained his fire tea and getting up from the booth. “We’re taking a cab home.”


	2. Chapter 2

Between the time difference on the ship and Earth’s lack of movement, Jim spent a restless night on the couch. He’d only drunk the one beer at the Shipyard, so he could make sure Sam got home safely, but it had worn off by the time they left the bar. He rearranged his position, propping his head up with a throw pillow, then casting it aside and using just his arm—no use. He finally poured himself a drink and sipped it next to the window, watching the stars.

Riverside was still and quiet. He’d forgotten how quiet. The whiskey finally lulled him to sleep.

A rooster startled him out of a daze with it relentless crowing around five in the morning, so he gave up the pretense of trying to sleep and thumbed through his messages. Spock reported that there was nothing to report, and Bones had issued a medical order that Jim was to relax and stop reading his messages.

Biting down a sense of uselessness, he dressed and went to the kitchen. The table was empty, no mugs set out for coffee. Everyone must still be asleep. Instead of starting breakfast, he pulled on his boots and went for a walk, following the dirt road that ran past the farmhouse.

He followed the road for a couple miles, thumbs hooked in his belt loops, until he reached the turn-off for the quarry. A glance at his comm confirmed it was a little past 6:30. The workday wouldn’t start for another hour, so the quarry was silent, and there were no cars in the parking lot. No one to catch him sneaking in. He ducked through the fence and hiked the distance to the drop-off.

He couldn’t identify anything remaining from the wreck, uncertain why he’d thought it might still be there. It had been a miracle the mining company hadn’t filed charges against his parents for damage and the cost to remove it. A psychiatrist had blamed it on trauma. _Regular therapy_ , she said, and Jim would be fine to return home. Of course, his step-dad had taken off not long after that, so it was Sam that had driven him to therapy sessions.

Not that they’d done him much good. Jim had merely smiled, reciting what he knew the doctors wanted to hear (it wasn’t his fault the others had died; there wasn’t anything he could’ve done to stop it; it was natural to feel guilty) and was dismissed six months later with a clean bill of health. He could still fake that smile on cue.

His comm buzzed with a message from his mother asking where he’d gone. Breakfast was ready. He replied that he’d been for a walk and, with a toe to the dirt, started back. He ignored the looks from a couple quarry workers now drinking coffee outside the perimeter. He’d been here nearly an hour.

The walk had cleared his head. By the time he pressed his thumb to the door lock and went inside, the lingering exhaustion from traveling was gone. The house welcomed him with a scent cloud of coffee and syrup.

“Morning,” Sam said when Jim strode into the kitchen. Jim’s boots and pants were dusty from the road. They didn’t ask where he’d been. He washed his hands and sat down.

“Sorry,” Jim said, scooting in his chair. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“That couch has seen better days,” Winona said, drumming her fingertips against a mug. She took a deep sip and sat back. “You take my room tonight.”

“Mom, it’s fine.”

She frowned. “Wouldn’t you and your friend be more comfortable with privacy?”

“My—” Jim bought himself a few seconds to think by helping himself to sausage and pancakes. Sam still overcooked bacon, so Jim passed on it and dredged his plate with syrup, contemplating sending a picture of it to Bones. His mother watched him, waiting for him to finish. She’d clearly inferred that he and Spock were...something. He speared a sausage link and navigated it through a lake of syrup. “ _Just_ friends, mom.”

He looked at Sam for an assist, but Sam was too busy shoveling food into his mouth. Winona cleaned her hands on a napkin.

“Oh. I assumed, since you invited him to the wedding, that you were...I’m sorry. I should’ve asked.”

“No big deal. Anyway, he’ll be fine in the den. I’ll sleep in the living room.”

“So you’re not seeing anyone?” Aurie asked, sounding disappointed. She sipped water and pushed her plate away. She’d only eaten a few bites, but Sam swiped the rest of her bacon.

“Well, legally, I can’t approach anyone on the ship,” Jim explained. “It’s considered an abuse of power, so they’d have to come to me. And even then, it’s frowned upon. Everything has to be disclosed to Starfleet. If it ended badly, I’d have an ex for a crew member.”

“You could transfer them,” Sam suggested.

“Ethics violation,” Winona said. She turned to Jim and placed a hand on his arm. “It gets lonely out there. I’m glad you have friends.”

“And there are still ports of call, am I right?” Sam winked. Aurie threw an elbow into his ribs.

“Yeah, sometimes,” Jim said, laughing at the way Sam groaned. He winked at Aurie and crammed a whole sausage into his mouth.

“I did not raise you in a barn,” Winona said.

“Awful damn close.” Jim nodded toward the silo, visible through the kitchen window. Sam laughed, and Aurie looked at him with pity. Jim motioned to her plate with his fork.

“What’s wrong? Afraid you won’t fit into your dress?”

“I don’t feel well,” she said, rubbing her stomach.

Sam frowned. “It’s probably the water.”

“It always takes me a few days to adjust,” Winona said. “I’ll make you some tea. Anyone else?”

Jim and Sam’s collective “no” echoed across the kitchen.

#

Spock sent a message around lunchtime that his shuttle would departing San Francisco within the hour. He would arrive earlier than expected and hoped it would not be an inconvenience.

The slight change in plans left Jim feeling buoyant.

He tidied up the den, collecting his few belongings into his duffel bag and relocating it to a corner of the living room, out of sight. Sam drove into town to check on last-minute preparations for the ceremony, leaving Aurie behind with a book. She read in the back yard, stretched on a lounge chair. Jim and Winona dozed in front of the TV, watching vintage movies until Sam returned and ordered everyone into the kitchen for a late lunch. Aurie, apparently recovered from whatever had bothered her at breakfast, ate twice as much as any of them.

Winona suggested chess after they finished. Jim was two moves from checkmating Sam when the front door chimed. He froze. His heart stuttered and blood rushed to his face as he pushed back his chair.

“I’ll get it.”

“Just friends, my _ass_ ,” Sam muttered. Aurie glared at him.

“I can’t believe I’m marrying you tomorrow.”

“Don’t anyone touch my pieces,” Jim shouted and unlocked the door.

Spock, a compact travelling bag at his side, smiled at him across the threshold.

“Jim.”

“Hey.”

Jim’s first instinct was to hug him. They hadn’t seen each other in person since Jim’s commendation ceremony, and though they spoke occasionally through video, most of their correspondence was in writing. Sometimes Jim sent unclassified pictures when they were on a particularly lovely planet. He reasoned Spock had visited these places with his _Enterprise_ , that Jim was hardly showing him anything new, but he got a thrill whenever Spock replied.

He shoved decorum aside and wrapped Spock in a hug, knowing Spock would let him, knowing Spock would hug him in return. He did. He pulled Jim close and squeezed him with both arms. The stale scent of the shuttle hung on his clothes, a practical black cloak hemmed to just an inch above the ground. His skin was lightly tanned; Jim guessed he’d been helping with the construction of buildings on the colony. The new Vulcan Science Academy was scheduled to open in two months.

“You look great,” Jim said against Spock’s shoulder, ignoring his fluttering stomach.

“As do you.”

They only broke apart when Winona walked up behind them.

“Ambassador Spock!” she said—shocked, judging by her tone.

Spock extended the _ta’al_. “Live long and prosper, Commander.”

She repeated the greeting and waved them both through the door, hanging Spock’s cloak in the closet before showing him to the den. Jim picked up Spock’s bag and followed behind them.

“I apologize for the accommodations,” Winona said with a sharp look back at Jim. “My son didn’t tell me you were coming until last night, and he failed to mention precisely _who_ was coming. If I’d realized, I would’ve made up something more comfortable.”

“Would it be more convenient for you if I obtain lodging elsewhere?”

“Don’t be absurd. Will you be alright in here? Or would you prefer my room?”

“Do not trouble yourself,” Spock said. “My housing on New Vulcan is modest. This is luxurious by comparison.”

Winona sighed and began to smile. She rubbed her hands together. “Can I get you something to drink? There’s plenty of food in the fridge.”

“Tea, if it would not be any trouble,” Spock said.

“Jim?”

“Tea’s fine,” Jim said, a little flustered. He set down Spock’s bag on the couch and crossed his arms over his chest. When Winona quirked an eyebrow, he added, “What? I’m cultured.”

“Good,” she said. “I assume you know how to boil water.”

#

Jim’s concern about how Spock’s presence in the house might upset his mother was unfounded. Once she’d gotten over the surprise of finding the ambassador on her doorstep, instead of one of Jim’s academy friends, Winona settled into her arm chair and engaged Spock in easy conversation—the status of the colony, warp travel improvements she had to look forward to. Spock answered her questions in a polite but vague manner until Winona gave up trying to pry information about the future out of him. Jim bit his cheeks to keep from laughing.

“You alright there, Jimmy?” Sam asked. He had an arm draped over Aurie’s back and held a glass of wine in the other that he lifted to his mouth with mock elegance—pinched expression and a pinkie raised. Looking at Sam was like gaping at a grotesque funhouse mirror.

Jim flipped him off. He propped one boot on the coffee table and rocked back a few inches until Winona smacked his thigh. The chair thudded to the floor.

“I am honored to be a witness at your union tomorrow,” Spock said to Sam and Aurie.

“I can’t believe it’s tomorrow,” Aurie said. She slurped the remains of her tea. “All that buildup and it’ll be over in twenty-four hours. We should’ve eloped.”

“Far simpler,” Spock agreed, “but there is something to be said for including others in the ceremony. A degree of sincerity, perhaps.”

Jim caught Spock’s eye and held it, and grinned until Sam flapped a hand at him.

“Jimmy here’s next,” he said.

“I’m good,” Jim mumbled and scrubbed at a scuff on the leather sofa with determination.

“You can’t marry a ship.”

“Shouldn’t you be in the shower?” Jim said, widening his eyes but refusing to look up. “Rehearsal tonight. Lots of words to repeat.”

It was Sam’s turn to flip him off.

The ceremony rehearsal started promptly at five o’clock. A stone-faced wedding coordinator in a suit and blue tie instructed Jim where to stand, how quickly to walk, what hand to use when he passed Sam the rings. (“Do not pretend to lose them.”) Jim needed a pre-mission briefing to keep up, but he nodded along and did his best to charm the coordinator. He wasn’t a bad prospect—messy dark hair and blue eyes, sharp tongue—but he only showed interest in the tasting room attendant doling out one-ounce samples to tourists. He blushed to his ears when the attendant winked.

“He checked out your ass,” Jim told him helpfully on their way back through the tasting room. The coordinator, Steve, warmed to him after that.

Winona and Spock met them for rehearsal dinner at a vegetarian restaurant in Iowa City, where Jim’s short-term memory was put to the test. Sam introduced him to Aurie’s extended family, who shook his hand and requested pictures. Jim indulged them, shrugging at the bemused expression Sam sent his direction—it wasn’t Jim’s fault he was a minor celebrity.

Eventually, their attention fell on Spock and the assumptions came forth. Spock took the evening in stride, patiently explaining to aunts and cousins that Jim was a good friend, not his partner, until they both realized it was pointless. People would assume what they wanted. Jim got himself a stiff drink and smiled his acceptance of further congratulations. When he escaped to a second-story balcony between the dinner and dessert courses, Spock slipped outside after him.

“This’ll just confirm what they’re thinking,” Jim said. The liquor had lengthened his syllables and he was pleasantly drunk. He rested his arms on the metal railing.

“It is a flattering assumption.” Spock stood at his shoulder but kept his hands clasped in front of him, taking in the view. They took in the grid of streets and the street lights below. When Jim had been a land-locked kid, Iowa City had seemed a vast metropolis, but it only held a fraction of San Francisco’s population, and none of the vastness of space.

A breeze gusted upwards at them, and Spock shivered in response.

“Is this too cold for you?” Jim asked. “You want my jacket?”

“I will go inside if I become uncomfortable.”

“Sure? Don’t want these folks thinking I’m an inattentive boyfriend.”

“Impossible.”

Jim didn’t know if he spoke from experience or was simply being generous, but he appreciated the compliment. He tightened his hold on the railing and smiled at Spock, nudging his shoulder and focusing on blinking lights in the distance, until Winona summoned them back inside.

#

“Sure you’re going to be alright in here?” Jim asked, fluffing the pillow for the umpteenth time. Did Spock like his pillow fluffed? Jim thrust his hands into his pockets and rocked back onto his heels, hoping the action would chase the butterflies that had taken up roost in his stomach for the last hour.

“Fine,” Spock said. His mouth arced into the barest smile, but one that carried decades. It stripped Jim bare. He dragged a hand over the back of his neck.

“Any chance I can talk you into telling me what I said at Sam’s wedding where you came from?”

“No.” Spock unfolded a sleeping tunic and pants, and laid them across the back of the couch. “I was not present for it.”

“Damn.”

“You give speeches often. Why is this one different?”

“Cause it’s my brother. It’s supposed to be funny. I’m supposed to embarrass him, but not humiliate him.”

“A delicate balance. I believe you are equal to the task.”

“Thanks.” Jim laughed his way into a yawn, hiding it against the back of his hand. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Yes.”

“Awesome.” He reached for Spock and planted a firm hand on either shoulder. “Glad you’re here.”

He hugged Spock goodnight, lips brushing his cheek without a thought. Spock stiffened. Realizing what he’d done, Jim tripped hurrying to the door and kept his face down until he was through it, safe on the living room couch, eyes fixed on the vid screen. It was a Starfleet recruitment ad, the same one he’d turned off countless times, except someone had spliced in footage of Jim taking the captain’s oath.

He turned it off and rolled over to face the back of the couch, running through childhood memories like a movie, coasting in and out of various scenes: holidays of three; and then four, the year Frank came to live with them. Sam’s anger over the way Frank treated Jim and his empty threats to run away, and they had to be empty, because Sam had promised he’d never leave Jim, not ever. He thought about the hurt look on Sam’s face when Jim announced he was going to live with their aunt and uncle on a colony, and the shock in his eyes when Jim returned to Earth a walking skeleton. The way he’d paled, discovering Jim had stolen the Corvette. Sam’s hands gently patching him up—after.

Not exactly wedding-day material.

He thought about his bunk for one on the _Enterprise,_ about the easy way he’d reached for Spock earlier, dragged to sleep by the hum of ambient household noise. He dozed, coasting in and out of sleep until sunrise pawed at the windows and the rooster had begun to crow.


	3. Chapter 3

Jim nursed his lack of sleep with a strong pot of black coffee, enough to stop his incessant yawning. Maybe he could catch a few winks before they headed to the winery for the ceremony. Aurie, who had opted to stay in the guest room instead of at the hotel with her family, joined him at the breakfast table. They drank in silence. Spock had said he wanted to meditate, so they left the den alone. Winona paced the back yard waiting on a status update from her ship’s acting chief engineer. When she finally got him on the line, Jim wasn’t sure he’d ever heard such creative swearing.

“Can you imagine if your mom served under you?” Aurie asked under her breath.

“She’d scare the hell outta my crew. Scotty would either be in love or shit himself. Are you nervous about today?”

“A little. This means a lot to Sam. I’m mostly worried about tripping on the dress.”

“You’ll look beautiful,” Jim said, and she squeezed his arm in appreciation. “Even flat on your face.”

Aurie’s family arrived close to lunchtime and swept her off to get ready. Only then did Sam agree to come downstairs, in just a pair of boxers that were fraying at the edges.

“I’m starving,” he said.

“We ate everything,” Jim said. “You should’ve gotten down here sooner.”

Sam scratched his chest and groin through a yawn. “It’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding.”

“Man, if we weren’t practically twins, I’d wonder if we’re even related.”

“Oh, hey,” Sam said casually, burying his head in the fridge like a metaphorical ostrich. “We gotta grab our tuxes in town. And don’t let me forget to give you the rings.”

Sam ate his weight in bacon and sausage and went upstairs for a shower, so Jim drove into town to pick up their tuxes. He wondered if he should’ve opted to wear his dress uniform for the ceremony, but he found Winona in the front hall in a knee-length silvery dress and heels. She searched for a jacket. Jim figured if she’d opted for civilian formal wear, he was fine in a penguin suit.

“Spock is in the kitchen,” she said, moving aside a cracked leather jacket that had belonged to his stepfather, one of the only things he’d left behind. “My bathroom’s free.”

“How long do I have?” Jim hoisted the tuxedo bag high enough that it couldn’t touch the ground.

“About an hour, but Sam’s going to want to leave early.”

“Alright, I’ll get dressed in a minute.”

“Now,” Winona said.

“Right away, Commander.” Jim pecked her cheek but went into the kitchen..

Spock, in a set of fine black robes with what looked like Golic Vulcan embroidered in pearlescent thread on the lapels, read from his padd at the kitchen table. He looked up when Jim entered.

“Good morning.”

“Hey. Couch treat you okay?”

“It was more than adequate. Did you finish your speech?”

“Nope.” Jim hoisted the garment bag so it hung down his back, finger hooked over his shoulder. “Mom says we’re out of here in an hour, which means thirty minutes before she’s riding everyone’s ass to get in the car.”

Spock appeared amused, a smile teasing the corners of his mouth. “I am sufficiently warned.”

“Cool.”

Jim grinned at him for no particular reason, content to stand in the open doorway to the kitchen and watch Spock’s hands move over the touchscreen, as though he were playing an instrument, not manipulating a piece of technology. Though they were the same person genetically, this Spock didn’t remind him of his first officer, apart from the occasional spark of recognition in his peripheral vision. This Spock had a wry sense of humor that hadn’t developed in the younger Spock, undoubtedly a consequence of serving for so many years among humans, but also of accepting his own humanity.

Jim’s first officer still struggled with that. Through their bi-weekly chess games, Jim had done his damnedest to dislodge the stick shoved up Spock’s ass—the one that made him stalk the ship corridors like an android—but even Uhura exhausted herself eking emotions out of him.

The person sitting in front of Jim steepled his fingers together and rested his chin lightly on top of them, raising one eyebrow.

“Jim.”

“Huh?”

“Assuming your prediction about our time of departure is correct, you have twenty-seven minutes to get dressed, unless you are planning to attend the ceremony in denim trousers.”

Spock’s eyes were playful. Jim narrowed his. He suspected Spock knew the word for jeans as well as anyone in this house and was merely playing the alien card. Jim folded the dry cleaning bag on the table and straddled a backwards chair, leaning over the top of it to poke at the padd lying on the table.

“All I’ve got to do is throw on this thing.” He gestured to Spock’s robes. “Are you going in that?”

“Yes.”

“It’s a good color on you.”

“Since black is the absence or the absorption of light, it is technically colorless.”

That same glint in Spock’s eyes had Jim convinced he was being teased, so he jested in kind:

“Friendly tip: someone says you look hot, you should say thanks.”

The kitchen rang with his words, spoken more loudly than he’d realized—if his mother was still in the hallway, she overheard. What the hell was he doing? He was flirting; that’s what he was doing. Flirtation was an easy defense. It often left the recipient flustered, giving Jim the upper hand. He didn’t have it now.

His cheeks were on fire. He held his breath and prayed he hadn’t offended Spock just now and prepared to make an apology when he caught the slight dip of Spock’s head. Spock inclined it toward his chest, a delicate green flush settling across his cheekbones. He was pleased, perhaps even flattered, but not offended. Not upset.

“Thank you, Jim.”

Relieved, Jim let out a breath.

If they’d been alone, he might have kept it up: goaded Spock into a full blush. See if he could make a Vulcan stammer. But Sam was upstairs waiting for his tux, probably pacing a trail in the carpet, so Jim stood up.

“Gotta make my brother pretty. Meet you down here in twenty.”

“James Tiberius,” Winona bellowed from the hallway, a knee-length peacoat in her fist. The threat was implicit. He didn’t wait for her to tack on a consequence.

“Yeah, yeah, going.” He trudged up the stairs, quickly dressed, and perched on the bathroom counter to annoy Sam.

Sam’s complexion was a little ashen, his movements exaggerated. He wet and finger-combed his hair, tied it back, and furiously released it again with a yank on the elastic band. He threw it in the sink and blew out a breath.

“Dude. Chill.” Jim flicked him in the ear and retrieved the band, placing it back in Sam’s palm.

“I’m nervous as hell.” Sam tied his hair back again, successfully this time, low on his head.

“No shit. You look like you’re in shock.”

Sam pulled on his tux and brushed the wrinkles from his cummerbund, a startling shade of blue that was mostly concealed by the time he got the tux fully buttoned. Just enough peeked above the vee of the jacket to offset the black and white.

“How do I look, really?” Sam asked.

“Like you’re gonna hurl. If you decide you’re gonna puke at the altar, do me a favor and turn your head the other way. These are my good boots.”

“You’re not wearing the dress shoes?”

“They don’t fit.”

“Great.”

“No one’s coming to see me,” Jim assured him.

Sam put one hand on either side of the sink and blew out a breath. “Oh, the rings,” he said, dazedly.

“In my pocket.”

“Mom?”

“Has been ready to go for an hour. She’s gonna drive. We’re just waiting for you.”

“Jim, I’m really glad you’re here.” Sam turned around, mouth twisted where he inevitably chewed the inside of his cheek, but there wasn’t any irony to his words. Jim smiled, closed-lipped, and cuffed him on the shoulder, wondering what kind of asshole Sam thought he’d become if he hadn’t believed his little brother would really make the trip home for his wedding.

Going forward, he’d do better. More video chats. More emails. Maybe the _Enterprise_ could swing by Deneva.

Sam fidgeted in the front seat during the ride to the winery, fussing with his pants seams until Spock asked his opinion on water purification techniques in desert climates. Sam snapped into scientist mode, shoulders relaxing and his hands coming to rest on his thighs. Jim was grateful for Spock’s intervention, so much that he reached over and lay a hand on his arm, thrilling in the way Spock turned his face a quarter in Jim’s direction and smiled.

By the time they climbed out of the aircar in the winery parking lot, Jim’s speech was still a rough draft. He hadn’t come up with much beyond “Hi, for those of you who don’t know me, I’m Jim Kirk.” But duty called. With a squeeze to his shoulder, he left Spock to escort Winona and herded Sam past a crowd of family and friends gathering outside, into the winery’s main building.

He hadn’t taken the time to look around during the rehearsal, but now that he had a few minutes, he took in the high ceilings and an enormous flagstone fireplace flanked by leather couches. Leave it to Sam to pick some fancy place like this to tie the knot. If Jim ever took the plunge, he’d choose a small venue, just a few close friends and an avalanche of food.

Still, the place was nice—not like the dives Jim haunted. A place of culture, not iniquity. The bar was carved of polished, rich wood, dotted with bar stools with padded seats and backs. A grid of wine bottles made up the wall behind it, hundreds of bottles arranged by varietal and year, in dark green glass. Through French doors, Jim could see a large white tent outside where the reception would be held.

He got Sam seated in a deep leather chair and glanced to the wine bar. A server pulled bottles from boxes and set them in rows, beside a matrix of wine glasses. He knew one surefire way to calm Sam’s nerves, and it wasn’t with another biology lesson. The fact that Jim would be calmed by extension was mere serendipity. Jim told Sam to stay put.

“It’s for the groom,” Jim pleaded with the server, just this side of twenty-one, but he shook his head in apology—cocktail hour wouldn’t start until after the ceremony had concluded, and he’d be fired if he opened any bottles before then. Jim suspected Steve was to blame, but he wasn’t in the mood for arguing. He pulled out an emergency flask and passed it to his brother.

Sam made a face.

“Trust me.” Jim nudged the flask toward him again and made a pleased grunt when Sam took a long pull, closing his eyes for half a minute before he swallowed. “Better?”

“Not really.”

Jim took the flask back and took a swig, licking his lips to chase a stray drop of bourbon—McCoy’s good stuff. By now, he’d probably discovered the bottle emptier than it should be. That was one benefit to Jim being off ship—he’d be spared the lecture and would bring a new bottle to replenish it.

“How come you’re so worried?” Jim asked. “You’ve lived together for years.”

“What if this changes something?”

“Like what?”

“You hear stories. Marriage is an old-fashioned concept. Mom and dad did it, but it’s not as common in Aurie’s family, and I’m thinking maybe she’ll come to resent it someday. Feel like I pushed her into it.”

“Sam, Aurie doesn’t do anything unless she’s got her mind set on it. If she’s marrying you, it’s because she wants to.”

“She’s pregnant.”

“What?”

“Aurie’s pregnant.” Sam dropped his face into his hands. He took a few breaths before leaning all the way back in the chair and letting his head rest on the cushioned back. “Twelve weeks.”

“Sam, that's awesome!”

“Is it? I have no idea how to be a father. Frank wasn’t exactly a role model.”

Jim made a noncommittal noise and took another sip before offering the flask to Sam again. This time, he accepted without argument.

“You’re gonna do a bang-up job,” Jim said. “You did a good job with me.”

“I almost got you killed.”

“Hey.” Jim dropped to the ground in front of him, so they were eye level, and caught Sam by the shoulder. “You were a kid. That wasn’t on you. No one could've—” Taking a deep breath, Jim waited until his heart rate leveled out, until the tension bled out of his neck and shoulders. “You and Aurie are going to be _great_ parents.”

Sam snorted gently and nodded toward his lap.

“Trust me,” Jim said, knocking Sam playfully on the jaw. “I’m a starship captain. They don’t give those things to just anyone.”

#

The brief ceremony was held outdoors beneath an arbor wrapped in fairy lights. Aurie was radiant in a floor-length white dress and Sam, now that he was bolstered by liquid courage, held onto her hands and made it through the vows without ruining anyone’s shoes. Out of consideration for Sam’s nerves, Jim didn’t feign losing the rings. He put them in Sam’s palm and patted him between the shoulder blades.

While Sam and Aurie were busy with the photographer and a bunch of grape vines, Steve led guests inside for cocktail hour. Jim planted himself at the bar and tried a blended red—not bad. Spock drank sparkling water. They endured the same line of questioning from curious wedding guests who hadn’t been at the rehearsal last night, but when asked how long they’d known one another, Jim turned to Spock with a pursed mouth.

“How long’s it been, honey?”

Spock replied each time without missing a beat.

The charade got funnier with each lie, and with the wine lubricating his inhibitions, Jim was happy to sling an arm around Spock’s shoulders when Steve announced the tent was open for dinner.

Jim had to give him credit—Sam had outdone himself planning this whole ordeal. The tent, nothing special from the exterior, glowed with the warm flicker of hundreds of candles, arranged in the center of each table on inch-thick tree slices branded with Sam and Aurie’s first initials. It was extravagant to burn so many candles at once; they could achieve nearly the same effect electronically with no risk of fire, but this felt earthy. Natural. It felt like Sam.

Servers brought the food to each table: roasted poultry and organic vegetables, everything ethically sourced and pesticide free, Sam had said. Spock’s plate had double vegetables and a gray substance Jim couldn’t identify but suspected was the protein equivalent of Jim’s chicken. The food was well-seasoned, good as far as banquet food went. A cut above anything from the ship’s synthesizers.

He elbowed Spock when Aurie’s niece and nephew, four and six, ran onto the dance floor before the room had even finished dinner—only to be shooed away by servers protecting the cake. Guests tapped their forks against their champagne glasses and Sam, blushing, took Aurie’s face in his hands before she took over and tipped him back in his chair. Jim choked up watching them kiss. And before he knew it, a server took his plate. Steve waved him onto the dance floor and pressed an old-fashioned microphone into his hands.

“Hi.”

The microphone whined with feedback, a terrible squeal that had the audience covering their ears. Jim winced, holding the mic away from himself as though it would help, until the noise faded. He tapped it twice and gave an exaggerated shrug, to the audience’s amusement. A chuckle rippled through the tent.

“For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Jim Kirk.”

More laughter—Jim’s face was plastered on every recruitment ad between here and San Francisco. It gave him a precious few seconds. He glanced over to Spock for support, encouraged by the way Spock focused on him: hands folded in his lap, eyes wide, as though he hinged on what Jim would say next. He took a breath and continued.

“I know we all want to get to the fun part, so I’ll keep this brief. Sam, you’re the best guy I know. I’m contractually obligated to say that since you’re my brother.” Sam grinned, and Jim smiled down at him before he sobered. “You were there for me when no one else was, and I know you’ll put that same devotion and loyalty into your marriage.”

Sam mouthed “thanks” and ducked his chin, a wet cast to his eyes.

“Aurie,” Jim said, focusing on her smirk. “I can’t imagine my brother being happy with just anyone. And since I’m not available, I’m glad it’s you.” A chuckle rippled across the room. Jim held his champagne at shoulder height and lifted his eyes to the audience. “I’d like to ask everyone to please raise their glasses. To Sam and Aurie, best wishes for the future. I love you both.”

The tent rang out with murmurs of “cheers” and the song of champagne flutes being tapped against each other. Spock held out his glass and clinked it against Jim’s when he sat down, but he didn’t drink from it. He leaned close enough that Jim felt his breath when he spoke.

“Concise yet effective.”

Jim snorted, downing both his champagne and Spock’s. He clapped when Aurie’s sister wrapped her heartfelt speech, but he looked away when Sam tucked his face into Aurie’s neck during their first dance, feeling intrusive. Spock lowered his head in kind. They both laughed watching Sam dig carrot cake out of his nose while Aurie looked on with the offending piece still in hand. She threw her bouquet and took her father’s arm, dancing to something quiet and sweet that Jim had never heard.

Jim ate a piece of cake without really tasting it. The lights came up, and guests were invited to the dance floor.

“Don’t worry,” he muttered, brushing crumbs from his lap. He shook out his napkin and dropped it on the table. “I’m not going to drag you out there.”

“Perhaps it will surprise you to learn I find dancing enjoyable.”

It did. Jim shivered, chasing the blush creeping up his neck by rubbing it with his hand. He played off his reaction with a laugh. “If I didn’t know you had a thing about lying, I’d think you’re messing with me.”

Instead of replying, Spock stood up and extended an arm. He led Jim to the center of the dance floor.

They were a sight: a Vulcan and a much younger, well-known human, swaying in time to a 200-year-old power ballad in a tent in rural Iowa. He was used to people staring, distracted by the curve of Spock’s hand over his, somehow imparting _need_ and _friend_ and _love_. It wasn’t the wine. He _felt_ them throughout his body, that same urgency he’d experienced during their meld years ago, but this time the feelings were directed at him. They weren’t echoes.

They’d probably danced like this, Spock and his Jim, decades in the past. Decades from now. Dances that had ended long ago and never happened. Maybe he was as much a ghost to Spock as Iowa’s seemingly endless miles of healthy crops would always be to him.

But if it upset Spock to be this close to him, it didn’t show in his posture or the way he tugged Jim closer when the song faded. They waited for the next to start, faces close but not touching, and in the few seconds before the opening bars of another ballad echoed through the tent, Jim lost himself in the sound of Spock’s breath and scent. He trembled despite the heat building in his cheeks, sweat beading along his hairline and lower back.

The music changed and Spock rocked closer, bringing their cheeks into contact. Jim, effervescent as the champagne he’d drunk, tightened his grip on Spock’s shoulder and closed his eyes. He nuzzled Spock’s cheek, tucked his face into Spock’s neck, and soaked up _love love love_.

But Spock, his cheeks flushed, separated from him after the third song. He suggested Jim dance with his mother, who was seated alone at their table, drumming her fingers on a starched tablecloth. Jim let go of Spock’s hand, feeling bereft now that he didn’t hold it, and got another drink. He and Sam took turns dancing with Winona, and Jim stole Aurie for a swing dance.

Two hours and several bottles of wine later, the wedding concluded. Winona retrieved her shoes from where she’d flung them under a table—heels were no good for dancing. She hugged Sam and Aurie, who waved from the aircar that would them to a hotel for the night. They had a morning shuttle to catch, off on a two-week honeymoon on the Hawaiian islands.

“Thanks, man,” Sam had said, jogging back to Jim through the crowd and pulling him into a fierce hug. He looked tired, his eyes mere crescents, but Sam was happy. “Love you.”

“You too. Call me.”

After the last guests had gone, and Jim had put the gifts and cards and leftover favors in the trunk, he escorted his mother to the car, lumbering around to the driver’s side. Spock touched his shoulder and held his hand out for the key fob.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Jim conceded after the initial flare of irritation passed. But he refused help getting into the car and batted Spock’s hand away when he leaned across Jim to fasten his seatbelt. “I’m drunk, not _five_.”

Spock merely raised an eyebrow and got into the driver’s seat. Jim rode home without a seatbelt.

Once they were inside, Winona left her coat on the back of the sofa and said she’d see them in the morning. She kissed Jim’s cheek and went up to bed. Jim could still hear the reception music thrumming, too riled up to think about sleep just yet, so he followed Spock into the den.

He sunk onto the couch and unbuttoned his jacket and the throat of his shirt, licking his lips and grinning when Spock sat down at the other end. He handed Jim a glass of water and told him to drink. If it had been anyone else, Jim would’ve snapped at them—he’d been at his brother’s _wedding_. He wasn’t on duty tonight. But Spock’s expression didn’t carry judgment, just an edge of concern. He looked at Jim for a long time, his gaze soft and familiar. Grounding. Spock looked at Jim as though he knew him, had always known him, but he didn’t. Not really. Not this Jim. Spock looked at another James Kirk, one Jim hadn’t been able to shake ever since Delta Vega.

“Look,” he slurred, struggling into a better position for conversation, mostly upright and turned toward Spock, one knee drawn up on the couch. He knew better than to have a conversation in this state, but the words tumbled out. “When you did that mind meld on me in the cave, I think you passed along some stuff you might not’ve realized.”

“What do you mean?”

“There were these... _feelings_ for me. For the other me. I didn’t think about them right away; it was a months later, almost a year. But when I _did_ think about them, about me and him, I couldn’t stop. It made me wonder what could’ve happened if he and Uhura weren’t already together.”

Spock’s lips parted in surprise. “Jim, you...your counterpart and I were never together, as you would say.”

Jim faltered, certain of what he’d felt. He hadn’t imagined it. “Bullshit.”

Spock shook his head. “Jim’s priority was always his ship. It was his life. I was content to serve with him, to be the recipient of his friendship.”

“No, I felt something. I wouldn’t have thought about it if you hadn’t given me the idea. I even thought about saying something to him, seeing if he was interested, up until they got engaged. The way you felt about him— _God_ , Spock. I’ve never felt anything like that.”

Swallowing, Spock cast his eyes toward his hands, laced together on his lap. “I will not deny that my affection for Jim ran deeper than friendship.”

“You loved him.”

“He was _t’hy’la_. The word has no Standard equivalent; it is a bond closer than brothers. I would have joined my life with his, if he had asked.”

“What happened? Did he marry someone else?”

“No. He disappeared into an energy rift. I have not seen him since.”

“How long ago?”

“Long enough that his memory is bittersweet. He would not have wanted me to dwell on it. To do so is not...logical.”

He might have said that for Jim’s sake or for his own. Jim nodded slowly.

“Did he know how you felt?” he asked.

“I am certain he suspected.”

“I’ve been thinking you two were married this whole time.”

“No.”

“So...were you and Uhura…?”

“No, though she had a relationship with Montgomery Scott many years later.”

“You’re kidding.” Jim rubbed his knuckles across his lips. “Was there anyone at all?”

“Only when it became necessary.”

Jim was uncertain what that meant and dizzy from the wine. He licked his lips and leaned forward. “Yeah? When’s the last time it was _necessary_?”

Spock was quiet for a minute and regarded him with a furrowed brow. “You are intoxicated.”

“Yup.” Jim smiled at him, eyes half-lidded, growing heavier with each blink until he stopped trying to force them back open. He sank lower on the couch and laughed. “I dunno what it is, man. I feel good around you.”

“We were always in tune,” Spock murmured.

“Yeah?”

“Are you familiar with _kolinahr_?”

“Sure. It came up in a couple of my classes.”

“I studied the discipline for three years, but my connection to Jim was stronger than my intent to achieve it. I failed the final test as a result.”

“That’s kinda romantic.”

“I suppose,” Spock said. “I was angry when I began the training. We were angry with each other. But after I failed, I returned to serve with him.”

“And you still didn’t get together?”

“Jim would not give up his ship. I would not have asked him to.”

“You know they’re not mutually exclusive?” Spock didn’t answer, so Jim let out a breath and snatched the glass of water from the table. It sloshed over to the rim and spilled onto his tux. Spock went into the bathroom for a washcloth and dried Jim’s shirt and pants. Jim caught him by the wrist.

“Does it bother you to be around me?”

“You are very different,” Spock said carefully.

“Bad different or good different?”

“Just different,” Spock said. His smile drifted from Jim’s face back to his hands, and he gently freed himself from Jim’s grasp. “He would not have danced with me.”

“I think he missed out.”

Spock cast his eyes down. “I could say the same for my younger self.”

“They’re happy,” Jim dismissed. He coughed on a mouthful of water and set the glass aside. “Are you coming to their wedding?”

“I will celebrate it with our father when the _Enterprise_ visits New Vulcan.”

“You better save me a dance.”

“There will not be much dancing at a Vulcan celebration.”

“Yeah, I guess not.” Jim settled back and closed his eyes, extending his legs the length of the couch. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Do you believe in fate?”

“My younger self would say no.”

“What about you?”

“I have experienced enough to know there are forces in this universe we cannot understand. Why do you ask?”

“I dunno, just...thinking about finding you on Delta Vega. Wondering what the odds were.”

“Highly improbable.”

“Right? But I found that cave, and you chased that thing off. Of all the ice caves in all the galaxies...”

“I see you are also fond of old Terran cinema,” Spock said with a chuckle. Jim snorted.

“A little.”

“It might be foolish of me to say, but it would appear the universe intended for us to meet that day.”

“I’m glad.”

“I am as well.” Spock paused, as though he was preparing to say more, then swallowed and squared his shoulders. “You need to sleep. I will see you at breakfast.”

“This is your couch.”

“You will be more comfortable in here. I will sleep in the living room.”

“Sure you don’t want to stay?” Jim asked, raising both eyebrows.

“Another time, perhaps.” He touched Jim’s face once, tenderly, and walked to the door.

“I’m gonna hold you to that,” Jim said, stroking his cheek where Spock’s hand had been.

Obscured by shadows, Spock’s expression was unreadable. “Goodnight, Jim,” he said. He closed the door behind him.


	4. Chapter 4

A little after sunrise, Jim woke up with a dry mouth and a jackhammer in his temples. He grunted and stretched his legs, arching his back until it cracked, and lay still for a few minutes. Wine hangovers were the worst.

The house was quiet. Considering how late they’d gotten home, his mother would probably sleep until mid-morning. He assumed, from the absence of footsteps and common household sounds, that Spock had chosen to meditate outside before breakfast. Some peace and quiet was just fine by him.

 _Spock_.

Last night’s conversation in the den swam back to him in gory detail. He cringed at his lack of self-control and crossed his fingers during his shuffle to the kitchen, praying that he’d been right, that Spock was in the back yard.

No such luck. Spock sat at the table, eating something Jim didn’t recognize—showered and dressed, his hair still damp and slightly tousled. He looked up with a pleasant expression when Jim walked by him, toward the coffee pot.

“Morning,” Jim said in his best professional voice, one he reserved for conferences and banquets with dignitaries. Since it was just him, he set a half pot to brew and stared at it with his arms crossed. It took significantly longer than synthesized, but the flavor was worth a few minutes’ wait.

“How are you feeling?” Spock asked. If he’d been upset by the way Jim had acted, the least Jim owed him now was sincerity.

“Stupid,” he mumbled and watched the coffee drip.

“You are far from stupid.”

Jim snorted, embarrassed. When enough coffee had brewed to fill a cup, he took down the biggest mug Winona kept crammed into the cabinet.

He stopped a foot from the table.

“Look, man, I’m sorry about last night. I came on a little strong.”

“I am not offended. And I will ask you again, how do you feel?”

“Like I just hung out in a warp core,” Jim said. It was flip. He immediately sobered, realizing the gravity of what he’d said, and caught his face in his palm. “God, sorry. Sorry. I keep forgetting you—”

“It was a long time ago.” Spock slid a chair out for Jim, who fell into it.

“How long were you, uh.” He motioned with a finger across his throat.

“Not long,” Spock said. “My method of resurrection was different, but the timeframe was remarkably similar. I was dead only a matter of hours.”

“Different how?”

Sighing, Spock sat back, letting his posture relax. “Jim had my body sent to an uninhabited planet we were orbiting, which was being studied by Dr. Carol Marcus and her son—I believe you know her.”

“Carol? Yeah, really well. She’s on my crew. Don’t think she has a son, though.”

Spock paused before he continued, pressing his mouth into a line and holding still for a breath, as though he had just stopped himself from saying something. He wet his lips.

“David was a remarkable scientist—an astrophysicist. He and Dr. Marcus developed a rapid terraforming device they tested on the planet. The energy from the process accelerated my resurrection. I was reborn an infant and grew to maturity within days.”

“Wow.”

“It was quite an experience. I never expected to re-live such awkward moments.”

“Puberty sucks.”

Spock made a noise of agreement.

“So, when’re you taking off for California?” Jim asked.

“I had planned to leave today.”

Jim did his best not to broadcast his disappointment, but his posture drooped. “I’m sure you have a lot going on.”

“I do. However, my shuttle is not until late afternoon. If you would be amenable, I would like to spend the day with you.”

Jim froze with the mug halfway to his lips. “Seriously?”

He watched the twitch in Spock’s mouth in response to Jim’s self-deprecation, but he didn’t acknowledge it. He nudged his plate toward Jim.

“Food will help, though I suspect you are familiar with treating your current state.”

“Been a while since it’s been this bad,” Jim admitted, poking at a hunk of bread.

“I lack Dr. McCoy’s medical expertise, but based on what I observed you consume last night, I would estimate that you will feel well enough to go out at lunchtime.”

“I’ll be good in a half hour.” Jim massaged a knuckle against the throbbing in his temple. “I just need a hot shower.”

“Yes,” Spock said, and although laughing only made Jim’s temples throb worse, he shook his head and did.

#

Unless cow-tipping could be considered an art, there was little in the form of entertainment near Riverside. Books had always provided Jim with the best company, until he’d gotten old enough to pass for legal drinking age. (Thanks to Sam’s old ID and a self-assured grin—no one double-checked the ID of a kid who ordered a beer and a shot with unwavering eye contact.)

But besides getting drunk and trying to sneak past ‘fleet security for an up-close-and-personal view of a starship in dry dock, he had no suggestions to offer, unless Spock harbored a secret fondness for boutique shopping. Main Street catered to the cadets and the occasional high-ranking officers who came in from San Francisco, and was lined with independently operated shops offering non-Terran food items and souvenir t-shirts. Jim hadn’t seen it in person, but he’d heard there was a shirt with his name on it. Might make a good gift for Bones.

He stepped out onto the front porch for some air and waited for Spock to join him outside. It was a pleasant day, overcast. Cool enough that he’d need a jacket if they spent much time outdoors. He went back inside for one and pocketed the key fob, wagering that Winona wouldn’t need the car today.

Spock asked for it. Jim, his head still thick and sore, gave it up without question.

They didn’t talk on the twenty-minute ride north, but the silence was comfortable. Jim rested his head against the window and let time chip away at his headache. It would’ve been simple to dose himself with one of Bones’s hangover cocktails—Winona kept a pharmacy in her bathroom—but the hangover was his own fault. Maybe he needed to give up drinking.

Traffic was light this early on a Sunday, so it wasn’t a half hour before they passed the familiar buildings of University of Iowa’s campus. Jim had driven the bike to visit Sam on weekends his first couple years away, crashing on the floor of his dorm with a wadded-up leather jacket for a pillow. He’d stopped coming up when Sam wouldn’t stop pestering Jim about applying for college, but it was relaxing to be back. The subject was moot. Besides, he’d made a lot of good memories here.

Spock parked near the art museum and motioned to the building. It was less than a hundred years old, one of the newest structures on campus.

“Your counterpart appreciated the arts,” Spock said with hesitation. “I do not know if you share his conviction.”

Jim sucked on his teeth. “Never really thought about it,” he said, but he took off his seatbelt.

The museum had just opened for the day. Few visitors ambled through the galleries, so the rooms were hushed and pleasantly cool. Jim grinned at an employee who called him by name and followed Spock’s lead into the European Art collection. Spock kept his arms clasped behind his back and perused each piece of art. Jim squinted at the plaques that gave the title and artist: Matisse, Duchamp, Picasso. The art was Terran. Jim recognized a few names, awed that most of the collection was hundreds of years old, and the colors still bright.

As they wound through the various gallery rooms—African, Contemporary, Millennial, Iowa artists—Jim tried to envision a version of himself with a better appreciation of the works he surveyed. Where Spock came from, James T. Kirk had been college educated. He’d shared Jim’s passion for books. Over the years, he’d managed to eke details out of Spock, but even with the images left behind from the mind meld, the picture in his head was fractured: James Kirk had been a brash captain, without the flaw of Jim’s recklessness, but he’d been bold. Without a crisis like the attack on Vulcan to expedite the process, he’d climbed Starfleet’s ranks through the proper channels (though, if Spock’s refusal to speak on the subject meant anything, his counterpart had also reprogrammed the _Kobayashi Maru_ ).

So they had a few things in common. A love of fine art wasn’t likely to be one of them.

Jim was glad they’d come here, though. Spock looked at home among the paintings and sculptures, pausing when something caught his eye, and he would touch Jim’s elbow to draw him closer and invite him to look more carefully. Jim liked the contact, if nothing else, and did his best to appear pensive, wondering what sophisticated people saw in a thirteen-foot canvas splattered with red paint. He stuck to complimenting the colors, preferring brightly saturated works to subdued landscapes. Spock appeared pleased by his effort. He stood for a minute in front of a painting of horses tilling a field, rubbing his head, and Spock suggested they sit for a while.

But Jim held out a hand and led them into the next gallery room, which held the Extra-Planetary Collection. He stopped in front of a tiny painting, no bigger than the palm of his hand, on loan from a gallery on Altair—vibrant blue, a representation of water, the plaque said.

“That is a remarkable color,” Spock said into Jim’s ear.

Blushing, Jim swallowed hard and rubbed at the prickling sensation on the back of his neck, craning his head to catch Spock’s eye over his shoulder. Spock looked...nervous. Hopeful. Jim licked his lips, eyes darting to Spock’s mouth. It would probably be inappropriate to kiss him. They were the only people in the gallery, and though staff was giving them a wide berth, he could see the arm and leg of a security guard through the next door. The room was undoubtedly monitored by video. He kissed the corner of Spock’s mouth, just barely, just long enough. The feelings of _love_ and _need_ and _friend_ bled into him where their skin connected. Spock’s hand settled at Jim’s lower back, and Jim turned back to the painting.

“Think this one’s my favorite,” he said thickly. “Is there anything from Vulcan?”

Spock indicated a sculpture in a glass case of a feline beast with a tail and sharp fangs. It was as big as his palm, finely carved from red stone.

“It’s like a mix between a cat and a dragon,” Jim said, squinting at the Vulcan inscription on the plaque, and did his best with the accent. “ _Le matya_?”

“Extinct,” Spock said. “A predator; we did not keep specimens off world. They were once widespread and responsible for many deaths. This is a pre-reform era sculpture. I encountered few _le matya_ when I lived on Vulcan. They did not come near the cities.”

“Big?”

“Roughly equivalent to the Grizzly Bear.”

Jim nodded slowly and turned around. He touched the front of Spock’s robe, running his fingers along a seam. They wouldn’t have met if Vulcan had been saved. They wouldn’t have met if Spock had saved Romulus. Jim might have had a father. There was nothing happy in the manner of their meeting, and yet this—standing with Spock in an art museum in the middle of Iowa—gave him more happiness than anything had in years. He had no idea how to reconcile that.

The conflict must have shown on his face, because Spock clasped his hand.

Jim cleared his throat and motioned to the exit.

“You wanna grab lunch? I’m starving.”

#

“After the mission?”

Jim took a bite of his cheeseburger and chewed while he thought about how to answer Spock’s question. The burger was smothered in mushrooms, bacon, and American cheese with a fried egg on top—Ambrosia. If Bones found out, he’d have Jim on a restricted diet for the next six months. But it was worth it. He chased it with a glass of hard cider and nudged Spock’s foot affectionately under the table. “I don’t know. I assume I’ll be offered another one. The alternative would be a promotion, but if I make admiral, I don’t get a ship.”

Spock looked thoughtful as he cut a bite-sized piece from his burger (black beans, not beef). “You could teach.”

“Dunno if I’m cut out for that.”

“You underestimate yourself.”

“I don’t mean the teaching part,” Jim said. “I don’t know if I want to be stuck in San Francisco permanently, watching other people getting ready to go out there.”

“It would be the same on any planet.”

“Would it? I don’t know. Sam’s thinking of moving to Deneva. You been there?”

Spock’s expression was momentarily strained. “Yes,” he said.

“What’s that face for?”

“It is inconsequential. Sam should go where he is happy.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I have no way of knowing whether the events from my timeline will take place in this one.”

Spock was side-stepping the truth, but Jim deduced from the tightness in his mouth that Sam’s time on Deneva had not gone as planned. Fear crept up Jim’s spine and coiled in his belly. He traced the mortar lines on the exposed brick wall.

“What happened to Sam?”

“Parasites.” Spock reached for his water and drank a third of the glass. He dried the condensation from his hand before continuing. “We were too late.”

Jim steeled himself against a shiver. “What about Aurie?”

“She and your nephew survived.”

He was unable to speak for a few seconds, picturing Sam dead and Aurie left with a baby that hadn’t even taken its first breath. “Assuming it does happen, you’d tell me, right? How to fix it?”

“I would not have you suffer like that again.”

Jim finished the rest of his burger and cleaned his hands when the server brought their check. He gave her his credit chip and pulled on his jacket, burying his hands in the pockets.

“You knew me better than anyone, right?” he asked. “Was I happy like that? Spending my whole life out there?”

Spock met his eyes across the table. “I believe you found joy in purpose.”

“What about you?”

“I am happy in this moment.” He gave Jim a brief smile. “I regret that I have to leave today, but I hope we will communicate more frequently.”

“Definitely. I’ll flood your inbox.”

“I did not arrange transportation from your house to the shuttle station.”

Jim quirked an eyebrow, feeling as though he’d missed a step.

“I had hoped you would take me,” Spock clarified, though there was something coy in the slight tilt of his head. “My bag is in the car, and it will give us more time together.”

#

The shuttle to San Francisco was on schedule, still cooling after its earlier journey from the west coast. Spock and Jim said goodbye at the base of the stairs, in plain sight of a half-dozen shipyard workers. Jim wore civilian clothing, but he’d had to flash his ID to accompany Spock to the shuttle, and from the way their six-person audience quickly doubled, he suspected news of his presence had gotten around.

“Please extend my gratitude to your mother for her hospitality,” Spock said.

“Will do. Thanks for coming, man. It was awesome seeing you.”

“Jim, I realize our work and the physical distance between us would make anything but friendship difficult.”

“You saying I can’t keep it in my pants?”

Spock gave him as much as an exasperated look as his Vulcan heritage would allow. “Spending this time with you has meant a great deal to me.”

“It’s meant a lot to me too.” Jim kicked at the dirt. “I need you to know...you’re not a substitute for him.”

With a tilt of his head, Spock asked, “Are you concerned that is how I see you?”

Jim bit his lip and shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

“It is a reasonable concern. I can only assure you that my relationship with you is unique, and the feelings I have for you are yours alone.”

Jim blushed to his ears, taking in a deep breath. “Okay.”

“Would you permit a small act of sentimentality?”

“I think so.”

Spock cupped Jim’s wrist and raised his arm between them. He molded Jim’s hand into a fist, his second and third fingers raised, pressed together in a plane. Spock formed his hand into the same shape and touched his fingertips to Jim’s. Jim had seen Vulcans touch that way during the evacuation, but he hadn’t put much thought into the meaning, presuming it was a show of comfort.

He’d been mistaken. It was intimate, a sort-of embrace. A ribbon of warm energy flowed through his fingertips and settled in his chest, where it beat, slowly, in time with his heart. Spock blushed along his nose and cheeks before he grew back, allowing his fingertips to brush along Jim’s palm, once, before he dropped his hand.

Jim’s skin tingled where Spock had touched him; a certainty thrummed under his skin that gave him the nerve to step forward and wrap a hand behind Spock’s neck. Jim kissed him—not tentatively, as he’d done in the museum, but with the same assurance Spock had just shown. He pressed his lips to Spock’s mouth and held there, and waited, soaking in the restrained passion he could sense just beneath his skin, urging him not to stop.

Spock sighed Jim’s name.

Jim wrapped his arms around Spock’s neck and lost himself, and kissed him for all he was worth. Spock kissed back—desperately, but with no finesse. Jim would change that. They would change that. He kissed Spock and said his name, and felt for himself the things he’d felt inside the meld, but it was for him, it was him this time.

Someone coughed. Jim held onto the staircase for balance, and only then did he remember they were in public—a well-known Starfleet captain and a Vulcan ambassador kissing next to a shuttle in the Riverside Shipyard. He opened his eyes. Several workers had their comms out. The photographs would probably filter into the news feeds shortly.

“Sorry,” he whispered, pulling back, licking his own grin. He wasn’t sorry. It was just gossip; it wouldn’t touch him or the colony. The worst he could expect was a memo asking him to demonstrate discretion. He could still feel the wash of Spock’s breath over his lips and it drew him back in, a strange drunkenness. The world shorted out a second time, his concerns along with it. Spock hugged him and spoke into his ear.

“You are not sorry, and neither am I.”

Jim laughed into Spock’s shoulder. “As soon as I know our arrival date on New Vulcan, I’ll let you know.”

“Thank you,” Spock said. He released Jim and stood at arm’s length. “When does your transport leave Earth?”

“Really early Monday.”

“I have a room in San Francisco. If you will be in the city overnight, I invite you to stay with me.”

Jim’s heart picked up. He raked his eyes down Spock’s body, just once. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll call you as soon as I’m on my way. We can grab dinner, too.”

The look on Spock’s face was fond. “I look forward to it,” he said with a final touch to Jim’s hand, and started up the steps.


	5. epilogue

**Several months later**

Bones began wiping the back of his neck when they were just a few paces away from the beam-down point. It was morning, and already New Vulcan’s sun was blistering. Heat radiated off of the dirt road and the short, attractive buildings on either side. Elegance did not, it seemed, run contrary to logic—though there was an obvious mix of architectural styles, since volunteers had come from various points in the galaxy. Earth had sent the largest number, but the architecture bore more than just Terran influence. Jim counted six buildings with Andorian tiles set into the foundation.

“I can’t believe I’m about to say this,” Bones said, glancing behind them to ensure they weren’t being followed too closely by other crew members, “but do me a favor, kid. Get laid while we’re here. You’ve been downright intolerable for months.”

“Bones.” Jim stopped walking and clapped him on the shoulder, too excited to be cross that Bones was making assumptions about Jim’s love life. “Relax.”

Jim left him to check in at the large boarding house that would serve as on-planet quarters for crew attending the wedding—all except Spock and Uhura, who would stay with Sarek, and Jim, who had someone waiting for him.

Spock had offered to meet Jim in town with transportation, but Jim was happy for the chance to stretch his legs and get his bearings. To get his emotions under control. _Walk toward the mountains_ , Spock had told him. Jim kept their craggy peaks in sight.

Residents, mostly Vulcans, nodded toward him in recognition as he went past, but they didn’t gawk. Twelve minutes on planet and he already felt more at home than he had in Iowa.

New Shi-Kahr was neat and orderly and thriving. Wide, clean sidewalks ran parallel to each of the four main roads that bisected the city, intersecting at a central memorial and dashing outward in a starburst. Concentric, circular roads separated the city into rings: the dense town center stood at its core, buffered from the outer residential zones by a ring of agricultural fields and community gardens.

Spock had selected a house in one of the outermost rings, farthest from city noise. Jim wiped sweat from his forehead and neck and hiked in the direction of the mountains. Despite its heat, this part of the planet was beautiful: reddish-brown soil; the sky hazy purple along the horizon, growing brighter by the minute. The sun would blaze for another eight hours, but come nightfall, Spock had promised Jim pleasant weather and an uncompromised view of the stars.

He passed out of the town center, past shops and food stalls, past greenhouses and fields waiting to be plowed and sown. It wasn’t Tarsus. It wasn’t Iowa, but he decided that he could be happy here, if it came to that. He was surprised to find he hoped it would.

Starfleet had been another way off planet, away from Riverside and things he still wasn’t ready to talk about. The fleet had given him confidence, self-respect he’d never imagined, but also a rash of new subjects he’d rather not discuss. Maybe Bones was right about going back to therapy.

He crossed a road into the first residential ring. Houses nestled close together, not rectangular in shape but crystalline, as though they’d formed where they stood. The multifaceted exterior walls never caught the sun for too long. The houses grew in size the farther he got from the city center. He spotted an aircar—two, three—on increasingly generous plots of land as he came to the last ring and swung a left.

James Kirk had vanished into an energy rift after a lifetime of service, the thing he loved most in the universe constructed of duranium. That wasn’t how Jim wanted to go.

Better to grow old on a dusty planet somewhere, in a house like the one he approached: a modest single-story with ornate windows and a thick front door—textured, so it wouldn’t reflect the sun. The pathway had recently been swept, but the gardens on either side needed tending. Well, Jim thought, biting the inside of his cheeks, as an Iowa boy, he knew a thing or two about that.

Just outside the door, Spock had laid a woven mat—simple yet welcoming, a pair of sandals beside it. Jim untied his boots and lined them up next to the sandals. He ought to look for a similar pair, if he planned to live here one day. Heavy footwear wouldn’t be practical on a desert planet, but daytime surface temperatures were too hot to go barefoot.

There was no rush. He had a couple years to find a pair he liked, and he could borrow one of Spock’s for now.

He breathed deeply and knocked twice, holding the strange air in his lungs. Hot, but not suffocating. It felt like life.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I cried a little posting this. Thanks for letting me come home to the Trek fandom. My blog is 99% Supernatural now, but if that's of any interest, I'm [on tumblr](http://museaway.tumblr.com). ♥

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Chasing Ghosts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12495996) by [Night (Night_Inscriber)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Night_Inscriber/pseuds/Night)




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